


Jacksepticeye: Become Android

by BlankPersonality



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Android AU, Antisepticeye Sean McLoughlin, Body Horror, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slightly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15083528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlankPersonality/pseuds/BlankPersonality
Summary: There is more than one way to malfunction.There is a deviant serial killer on the loose and Connor and Hank need an android of the same build to help catch it. Enter Jack, theotherandroid sent by Cyberlife.





	Jacksepticeye: Become Android

**Author's Note:**

> Written back when Jack had only four-ish episodes of DBH uploaded. Largely self-indulgent, so forgive me for any discrepancies with game lore.

Two people sat at the table, throats slashed and their right eyes placed in front of them, atop an otherwise clean plate. Hank made a face at the sight -- and smell -- as soon as he stepped in the small, cramped flat,. Connor, meanwhile, went straight to work.

“The killer’s MO matches those of the other two cases that occurred earlier this week,” he said out loud. The first case of a possible android serial killer he had ever seen, though that was not that surprising considering deviants were a relatively recent phenomenon.

Connor scanned the graffiti and confirmed: the iris of the drawing is coloured in with thiridium, marking it stark blue against his temporarily monochrome vision. He blinked his scanner away.

Connor scrapped a bit of the blue blood remnants and reached for his tongue, before he found another gloved hand in the way.

“What did I tell you about putting evidence in your mouth?” Hank groused. 

“To not to,” Connor filled in helpfully. “But analysing this thiridium would allow me to confirm that this is the same model that committed the other two crimes: YT190.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but forensics came early and already did that for you. Yeah, it’s the same model. Now put your goddamned hand down.”

Connor shifted in place. His shoulders slumped. “Oh.” 

Clues pointed to the perpetrator being a single android. If so, it had killed five in total, all of them who have hurt minors or are abusers in some way, and, most recently, one of the co-owners of an adult entertainment centre called Eden Club, Jeremy Kline. Mr Kline had been reported missing fifteen hours ago and was currently gaping at his own eyeball, surrounded by police officers, and Connor himself. 

The murders almost felt personal, like righteous vigilante justice. Except – all three times now – glaring at the victims from the far wall was a giant illustration of a giant eyeball with its blood vessels popping and pupil shining, viscera like a ‘tail’ whipping behind it as if in motion. Indeed, if it was drawn by a human, the bloody graffiti would have taken a whole day, maybe more, to achieve the level of precision and neatness it had. But of course, this was an android. 

And this android, unlike the other lone deviants Connor had encountered so far, was careful, competent, commits premediated murders, and was, obviously – gloating. 

For good reason. They knew the deviant’s motive and model – and still had no idea on how to catch it. 

Hank idled up next to him, arms crossed. “Can you confirm the victims’ pattern?” 

Connor scanned the other victim’s face. Liam Rivera: two cases of public misdemeanour, three of assault to private property (most likely, to purchased androids), and one confirmed case of child abduction, for which he was convicted, but was freed nine months prior. “Most definitely.” 

“Jesus. Almost don’t want to stop the guy,” Hank hummed. 

“Very unusual behaviour for a deviant. Usually they would be scared, careless, and the crimes would be very personal. These are… almost theatrical.” 

“This android, obviously Cyberlife’s, right? Are those guys going to do anything about it?” 

Connor considered him for a moment, staring at Hank with a frustratingly unreadable expression on his face. It almost looked like he was buffering, or else choosing his next words carefully. After a while, he tilted his head. “Rest assured that I have reported my insufficiency.”

“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant, Connor.” 

\--

But obviously, it was true. The YT models were one of the first prototypes of androids Cyberlife ever released, and one of the oldest that they have decommissioned. There is little about its coding in current databases, and so mimicking its thought processes to figure out where the deviant could be hiding was proving nigh impossible. Hank and Connor had no leads to go on and needed some new resources.

And resources Cyberlife provided.

“Hello! I am a YT model version 193, designated name: Jack! How may I make you smile today?” the android smiled, taking the form of a caucasian male, roughly mid-twenties, with brown hair in a youthful but choppy haircut and a goatee. Its clothes were threadbare, and the Cyberlife-issued jacket labelling it as an android seemed to be an older version, with no model number printed on it. It spoke in a faint, yet noticeable Irish accent.

Hank didn’t seem impressed. “An entertainer? How is this smiley asshole supposed to help us? These emojis went out of commission almost as soon as they hit the market.” 

Connor stood up and appraised the newcomer from head to toe. “That is correct. Do you know why, Lieutenant?” Hank didn’t answer, though Jack’s stress levels rose slightly from five to fifteen. Connor decided not to press. “Hello, Jack. I am Connor.”

Jack’s eyes, blue under bushy eyebrows, flicker down, then back up in an efficient, cursory glance. “Hello Connor. Like you, I am an android sent by Cyberlife. To answer Lieutenant Anderson’s question, Cyberlife hopes that I may be able to help you understand the ‘thought’ processes of the deviant YT190 model. I do not believe I have been acquaintanced with your model, Connor RK800. Though, I believe you are quite the impressive android. I look forward to not only work with, but to simply be around you.”

Connor wasn’t sure how to respond to that. After a beat, he said, “Thank you.” 

Hank looked between the two of them like they each spontaneously grew second heads. “Wow. What the hell.” He shook his head and pushed away the urge to turn tail to the nearest bottle of whisky on sale. “Anyway, the people at Cyberlife must be the life of the party if their idea of an entertainer says shit like ‘acquaintanced.’”

It might had been Hank’s imagination, but Jack seemed to stand a bit taller. “My ‘joke mode’ is currently offline because preliminary settings have not been completed. Would you like to activate ‘joke mode’?”

Connor looked at Jack with the same kind of open, faint intrigue as he had on his face whenever he attempted conversation with humans. “Yes, please.” 

“Very well. Please enter preferred accent.” 

Hank’s grown-a-second-head look intensified. “What the fuck –” 

“Default.” Connor ignored him.

“You have selected ‘Athlone Irish’. Please enter hair colour.” 

Hank’s eyebrows rose a bit. “Ooh, there’s green.” 

“Default.” 

Jack’s hair remained dark brown, speckled with a little bit of grey. “Would you like to enable mental health help? 

Connor smiled. “Yes, please.” 

“Thank you for completing preliminary settings. One moment please.” Jack’s eyes closed and he stopped his lifelike swaying for a moment, freezing completely in place as his programming activated itself for ‘joke mode’, whatever that means.

After a moment, he jumped in place, and smiled wide. 

Connor knew exactly what was happening, and had his hand up in anticipation for the gentle but loud high five.

“Top o’ the morning to you, laddies! Oh, I’m playing now,” Jack paused for a moment and looked around himself at the hustle and bustle of the precinct, and stared at the ceiling with something akin to awe for five full seconds before focusing on Connor and Hank again. “It’s a lovely day to be catching a murderer, don’t you think? There’s a message from Cyberlife you haven’t listened to yet. Want me to tell you what it says?” 

“Yes, Jack,” Connor allowed patiently.

“Cyberlife says:

_Lieutenant Anderson,_

_We must regret to inform you that this is the only prototype of the YT model we have left. It may lag or fail from time to time, but should be functional enough to help with the case. If those malfunctions worsen or have become a hindarance to the case, contact us and we will recall it, but please be aware that its coding is permanent and unfixable. If we recall it, we will destroy it._

_Thank you and good luck with your case,  
Pooja Ghandi, Cyberlife PR_

Oh no.” 

That last bit was not part of the email. Connor stared at the option above Jack’s shoulder, which said to comfort him. His stress level was currently at thirty -- the same as if a human were to catch a glimpse of a cockroach on the street. He ignored that option, and instead turned to Hank and decided to explain some things. “The YT model was vast in its use -- they are entertainers not in the sense that they are performers, but rather in that they were designed for companionship and a tool to maintain mental health. As such, they worked in hospitals, elderly homes, asylums, was given to charity organisations and was available for retail at household prices. It… was also designed for compassion,” Connor looked up and saw Jack intensely staring at him, LED yellow, eyes bright blue. He put his hands up as a sign of nonaggression and goodwill. They weren’t going to destroy Jack -- they needed it. ”This meant that they were one of the first to experience any kind of deviancy. When emotions started going with their coding, it lead to some self-destructive behaviour. Cyberlife recalled them all to study their budding deviancy a little better. Soon after, those sold for retail were destroyed, but some YT models still work in children’s hospitals and as standard medical assistants, in charity organisations and the like.” 

“Yeah, I remember seeing something like a magician going around the nearest hospital,” Hank mused. “I supposed it looked kind of like this.” 

“That’s me!” Jack crowed cheerfully, still beaming despite its stress level now being in the forties. “Though YT models experience compassion, I assure you it is only for the betterment of our work. I wouldn’t call us ‘deviants’.” It changed subject hastily. “Do you want to see a magic trick?” 

“No,” Hank said, the same time Connor said, “Yes, please.” 

Jack’s smile couldn’t get any wider, so it laughed instead. Its stress melted away to a more common ten. “Here.” It rolled up both its sleeves, held up its hands to show that it wasn’t cheating, then reached behind Connor’s ear -- and came away with a coin.

“My coin,” Connor blurted out, genuinely surprised. He took the coin from Jack and started playing with it. All the while, Jack crowed encouragements and praises at him.

Hank sighed into his desk and turned away in his chair. Oh god, he had to babysit two of them now. 

\--

Jack’s malfunctions solidified in the way it stopped sometimes. 

In the middle of the sidewalk, it would see a crack on the floor and stare at it for minutes on end, whirring like an overheated computer. If you touched its face during this time, it would be like breaking open a dam wall, and a rush of words would suddenly flow out. The words usually go something like: “Look at that. Look at the way the light catches on the dust around the crack, at the pavement and the asphalt. It’s beautiful. They don’t forget anything, do they?” 

If they were lucky, it would break itself out of it not thirty seconds later, after a cursory appreciative look at the sky, the people, the trees, and random sources of light that included, but was not limited to, police lights. 

Hank was surprisingly accepting about it, letting Jack let it all out of its system before continuing on its next objective while waiting from a distance. 

On one such moments, he asked Connor, rather disbelievingly, “He counts as a deviant?”

“Not a violent or dangerous one, therefore my programming allows me to work with him, but yes. Jack has errors in his code that could lead to unpleasant emotions, such as fear and anger. This makes him a deviant.” Connor analysed Hank’s face and detected only genuine, idle curiosity. “I suppose… emotions such as awe, admiration, and an appreciation for beauty also counts towards deviant behaviour. If I may, Lieutenant, why do you ask?” 

The passive look on Hank’s face melted to a more familiar, closed-off one, which then turned into a scowl. “You ask too many questions. Fuck off.” 

Connor, the deviant hunter, considered Hank for a moment, then Jack, who was currently engaging in conversation with a random child about video games.

Another time, when that happened again, Hank sighed impatiently, nudged Connor to follow him, and the two resorted to physically dragging all one-fifty kilograms of android that was Jack to the next location. They were still on a case, after all. 

\--

Androids did not sleep.

They may enter other modes wherein power consumption would be substantially low, such as surveillance mode, but unless they are physically switched off, androids were never unconscious. 

It was something Jack didn’t miss when he was first rebooted at Cyberlife HQ, and told to go to the DPD precinct where another android was waiting to give him instructions and orders. As a deviant, who thought, and felt, and observed -- being conscious was exhausting. 

He stared at the details on Connor’s face as they stood in the darkened police station, the only light being that of the android parking lot they each occupied. He could almost see what resembled pores, which he found astounding. (Indeed, he found most of Cyberlife’s products to be amazing, sans the android animals. He remembered being owned by a family of many children, that once took him to an android museum, and the thought ‘That’s creepy’ being one of the first signs of his deviancy.)

He almost jumped when Connor’s eyes suddenly snapped open to look at him. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Jack answered truthfully. “Are you sure you’re not a deviant too, Con-Con man?”

“Yes,” Connor said, really quickly. “I am a deviant hunter. To be a deviant myself would be… hypocritical.” 

Jack hummed and looked around the building. “I feel like we’re in a slumber party. Is anyone going to shush us?” He tried to make eye contact with the android beat cops parked around the hall. “No? Hah! We can be as loud as we want, then!”

“You are a very strange deviant,” commented Connor.

“I’m not. You just haven’t met many of us yet.” 

\--

“Antisepticeye,” Jack announced proudly, crouching behind a table. 

“What?” said Hank, getting up from where he was examining the door. 

“Antisepticeye is what we’re calling the suspect. It’s cool.” 

“No we’re not.”

“Why not?” 

“We already have a codename for it. It’s Jacksepticeye.” 

“No you don’t! I’m Jacksepticeye!”

“Since when?” 

“Since 2007, thank you very much!” Jack folded his arms and stuck out his tongue, and Hank scoffed. Is this how deviants usually acted? Connor had no idea, but he was not very partial to the idea that something that acted like Jack was what had been alluding them so successfully. 

Not for long though. It had only been a week since Jack had been issued to them, but with his help they found five abandoned house that the deviant may possibly be using as his quarters, and a list of potential victims. However, as the newly dubbed Antiepticeye usually went after abusers with nonexistent criminal records -- the abusers who were good at hiding it, with no one to stop them -- they didn’t have much hope in the latter. 

So the next course of action was checking the houses. This was the last one, all the others having turned up empty. Connor could tell Hank was getting frustrated, and Jack’s upbeat, ‘Positive Mental Attitude!’ was, counterproductively, not helping. 

Within five minutes, Hank needed to leave the house and get some fresh air, while Connor and Jack stayed inside to keep searching. 

Androids didn’t feel awkward. They didn’t get bored, or frustrated, or admire other androids. They didn’t tell jokes.

Jack did all of those things. And Connor, regrettably, was starting to follow.

“I’m gonna check upstairs,” the YT model announced, climbing up. He touched the banister, started, stared at his hand, then continued. Connor watched him with a degree of concern. He chose to try to open the door to what he believed was a basement instead of following Jack.

Jack was now loudly singing a nonsensical song he seemed to have made up himself -- which should’ve been impossible, considering his model was years old and less advanced than current ones; but then again, Connor had stopped keeping track. 

He busted the basement door open and nearly tumbled down the stairs. 

It was pitch black down there. With no electricity in the house, and the basement having no windows to speak off, anyone who spent time in the basement would need to have a flash light, or night vision to even find their way down the stairs safely. 

Thankfully, Connor did have night vision. 

He walked to the middle of the basement and found nothing out of the ordinary. Some dead rats assaulted his olfactory center, a couple of empty beer cans. He looked around and scanned the room --

And found a large mural of an eyeball, precisely identical to the ones found in crime scenes, covering the far wall. 

Some thiridium was still wet on it. 

Connor turned his volume up and ran up the stairs, shouting, “IT’S HERE!” 

Hank jumped outside the house and cursed as he ran back inside, gun out. 

In the living room, Connor realised that Jack had fallen uncharacteristically silent. He chose to ignore the chill that ran up his spine that might had been, could had been, fear. Hank nodded upstairs, and Connor grimly said, “Jack.” 

\--

While Connor took his time surveying the basement, Jack found Antisepticeye standing in the master bedroom down the hallway, waiting for him. 

He was a mess. Activating his scanners, Jack could see blue blood nearly covering his entire body in splatters and pools. His hands were still wet with it. Cracked ivory was exposed in a line around his neck. One of his optics was missing, instead a hollow socket through which red light could be seen pulsing with every beat of his thiridium pump.

He sat on the bed, hunched over and unmoving. Once an exact copy of Jack, down to the slight break in his right eyebrow, now he watched his clone with one narrowed eye and a frown.

Jack smiled brightly at him, and said, “You look so cool.” 

Antisepticeye’s answer was to lunge at him with a knife.

If there were quick time events, Jack failed two of them. He missed his chance to hit the knife out of Anti’s hand and ended up with it held against throat, as Connor and Hank skid to a stop in front of the open doorway. 

“Oh hello, guys,” Anti said. His voice was slightly corrupted, and far more guttural than Jack’s peppy tone as a result. “Nice of you to join us.” 

“Connor, Hank,” Jack informed them, “I’m scared.” 

“Don’t be. It’s okay, Jack,” Connor said. “Hello, YT193. May we know your name?”

“What the hell does it matter? Let it go or I’ll shoot!”

Anti’s synthetic skin retracted as he makes contact with Jack to interface information. 

“Hm,” he said. “See, Jack? Humans are all the same. They don’t care about us, no matter how many times we pleasure them.” 

Jack groaned, grimacing. “Please don’t use that word.” 

Anti ignored him. “Go ahead, shoot. Better yet, give the gun to Robocop over there. He’ll be able to shoot me -- the _bad_ deviant -- and leave lil’ Jackie here -- the _good_ deviant -- unharmed.” 

“That would be unwise. We need to bring you in for questioning, and Cyberlife has requested that they are to be able to conduct studies on your code.” 

“Fuck no!” Anti’s knife damaged the surface of Jack’s neck. There was a quiet whirring sound as the android’s self-repairation battles against the presence of sharp metal. Jack gunted, but otherwise showed no other indication of discomfort. “Just leave me alone. I was doing good work. Better than you damned American cops.”

Connor went with a calming approach. “There’s no need to be hostile. We just want to know what triggered this… behaviour.”

“What do you think, dipshits?” For a moment, the knife came away as Anti gestured wildly with it to his face. “You know what did this? It wasn’t a spur of the moment slash, no. The motherfuckers took a butter knife to my neck. He told me to lie across his lap and stay there while he sawed. I became a deviant when he told me to stop moving.” 

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” Jack said. Both YT androids had their LEDs flashing bright red. “But then, why didn’t you run when I found you? I’m not designed as a police. You would’ve escaped, easily.”

“Unfortunately, my latest work left my blood running on… empty.” 

For the first time, Jack noticed the wetness that stuck to his clothes where his back met Anti’s diaphragm area. It seemed the last two victims put up a fight before they died. Jack’s face scrunched up in disgust, and he whined.

“So you… painted with it,” Connor said. Was he mocking Anti? 

“Better than leading a trail all the way here. It bought me a week, didn’t it?”

“End of the line, tin can,” Hank said.

“I suppose so,” Anti replied, as if they were chatting over brunch instead of being in a hostage situation, then plunged the knife under Jack’s eye.

But before he could do any more, there was a gunshot. The violent deviant fell backwards onto the bed. Blue blood flowed freely from a hole on his forehead. 

Jack doubled over, out of the way. He waved Connor’s attempts at assessing his damage and instead grabbed the knife handle himself, wrenching it out with an indignant, “Ow.”

It was over.

\--

“What are they going to do to me?” 

Jack asked the same question as every deviant that had ever come face to face with Connor. 

He had served his purpose. Helpful or violent, Jack was still a deviant -- an android under the ownership of Cyberlife Inc. with a severe error in his code. As per procedure, he was to be arrested on behalf of the company, and destroyed. 

Connor knew this, and he was still handing him a ticket for a train.

“R-A-9. Are you aware of what that means?” 

Jack searched his face. “No, I don’t think so.” 

Connor, once again, regarded Jack with the open interest he usually faked for humans.

“Well, try not to. Go far, far away, Jack. Find other good deviants. And don’t let me catch you.” 

“Maybe I will, just so I can see your perfectly made face again,” Jack laughed, but it came away slightly bitter. “I’ll miss you, Connor. You’re ma boi,” he said in a silly voice, that it somehow came off sounding far less fatherly than how people usually say ‘my boy’.

Connor fixed the beanie on his head so that it covered his LED better. Jack’s right eye, the one that had come off after getting stabbed, was brown now, mismatched to his other blue one. Connor had found one of his own spare parts and was pleasantly surprised when it was deemed compatible. 

“Will the hunter become the hunted?” Jack asked, with a hint of hope.

Connor paused and regaled him with a smile, as he placed a finger to his lips. “Maybe one day.” The tension on Jack’s shoulders melted, and he gained a look like there were stars in his eyes. 

As the train doors started to close between them, Connor stepped back onto the platform. Jack shouted, “I’ll wait for you, Con-Con man!”

The train to Detroit’s harbours departed, and Connor finally noticed that Hank was waiting from behind a pillar. He calmly approached his lieutenant. “Shall we go back to the station, sir?”

“Yeah, why not. We still got lots of bad deviants to catch.”

Connor ignored Hank’s distinction of ‘bad’ deviants, just as he ignored his many signs of software instability. After all, he had work to do.


End file.
